Looking For Trouble
by aliasfluffyone
Summary: A peaceful spring day in Thunder Ridge is interrupted by the arrival of a stranger. Sometimes retribution isn't what you expect. Smith and Jones days c May 1899 and 1903 Milwaukee.
1. Son of a Gun?

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Looking For Trouble

Chapter 1: Son of a Gun?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Mmm," Hannibal Heyes closed his eyes appreciatively as he stepped out of the library into the the waning sunlight. "That feels good."

The former outlaw stood in front of the entrance way, silent for a moment, soaking up the warmth of the late spring afternoon. A loud bell clanged. Dark brown eyes blinked open, then squinted against the brightness. Heyes pulled the door shut behind him. A little metallic click told him the lock settled into place. The forty-nine year old glanced towards the schoolhouse.

"Chorus practice finished on time for once," chuckled Heyes.

Students poured out of the building. Heyes' lips curled up in a soft smile. Clem came down the stairs with one hand firmly clasping the wrist of their squirming five year old son. Kid's three oldest daughters raced past them towards their father's workshop. The fledgling business, Jones' Mechanical Repair, specialized in gun maintenance but also serviced the local newspaper's finicky printer, the huge hydraulic saw at the lumber mill and other machinery in the surrounding countryside. Kid could take apart, fix and put back together just about anything. Heyes arched his back and stretched his arms out to either side with a contented sigh. Two pretty good bad men had come a long way from their days on the run, even without an amnesty.

"Hi Josh'a!"

From across the street, ten year old Eliza waved at him. Heyes lowered his arms, tugging on the white cuffs of his button down shirt. Hannah reached the workshop door next, followed closely by little Jennifer. Eliza opened the door. For a moment there was a shuffle as the six year old and the five year old both tried to go through at once, then the younger girls disappeared inside.

"Eliza, would you tell Thaddeus…," called Heyes.

But the door to the machine shop swung shut on its hinges as Eliza followed her younger sisters inside. Heyes shook his head with a rueful grin.

"I'll tell him myself," murmured Heyes.

His sharp ears heard the sound of hooves further down the street behind him. Strangers in Thunder Ridge were rare. The slender man turned to see the approaching rider at the edge of town. The man reined in at Uriah's livery. The stranger pushed back his dusty black hat to dangle by the stampede strings revealing straight, sandy blond hair. The man lowered a dusty neckerchief from the set of his square jaw. Heyes' mouth dropped open. He staggered to one side and reached out a hand to the library siding for support. His other hand reached to loosen the black string tie at his throat. Footsteps behind him announced the arrival of Clem and Arthur.

"Joshua, you're so pale," observed Clem in concern. An arm clad in blue serge appeared in front of his eyes. Clem's delicate hand stroked the side of his face, then reached up to feel his forehead. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Maybe I have," whispered Heyes in a hoarse voice.

"What are you talking about?" demanded his wife.

The slim woman stepped in front of him, still gripping Arthur with her other hand. The boy was tall for his age. Heyes acknowledged his son's dimpled grin with a brief flash of his own before he looked past his family to the oncoming threat. The tall, lanky man dismounted with a familiar easy grace. A distinctive voice asked Uriah to look after his horse. Uriah's response caused the stranger to reach for his wallet. The apparition threw back the front panel of his cutaway coat to reveal a worn brown holster tied down against the man's thigh as if he knew how to use it.

"But it couldn't be him," gulped Heyes.

"Couldn't be who? What's the matter?" interrupted Clem's worried voice.

Heyes snapped alert. The shaken man straightened up, the master planner inside him took charge. His hands dropped beside his slim hips, reaching to remove the safety on a gun in a holster that wasn't there. Inwardly, Heyes berated himself for his complacency. He seldom wore a pistol now. These days, his weapon of choice was an ink pen.

"Trouble," asserted the tactical genius.

Brown eyes scanned the nearly vacant street. All the other school children were gone. Aside from the Smith family, Uriah and the stranger, the only person he could see outside was someone napping in the rocker on Mrs. Henderson's front porch.

"Clem, take Arthur over to Thaddeus' shop. Make sure everyone stays inside."

"What?" spluttered Clem in surprise.

The tiny woman released her son's wrist and balled up her hands against her hips. Clem's chin jutted out.

"Joshua! Tell me! What's gotten in to you?"

"We don't have time to argue!" insisted Heyes. "Just do it!"

Heyes reached out and grasped Clem by the shoulders. Gentle fingers bodily turned the headstrong woman to face Kid's shop. The brunette let out an affronted squawk of protest.

"Everyone," repeated Heyes. "And that includes Thaddeus!"

Clem's hazel eyes turned in the direction Heyes had been staring. For the first time, she saw the armed stranger. The color drained from her face as Clem realized the implications of her husband's determination to get them off the street.

"Who…?" began Clem.

Heyes shrugged his shoulders in answer. He knew who the new arrival looked like, but that was impossible. Right? Heyes gave his son a nudge in the direction of Kid's business.

"Go with your mother!"

"Pa!" protested Arthur. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me," ordered Heyes. "And mind your mother!"

Clem grabbed Arthur's wrist and pulled their son along in a hurried rush. Heyes angled down the street as Uriah led the stranger's horse into the stable. The new arrival turned to face Heyes directly. Closer now, Heyes realized this man was young, barely twenty, if that. And the stranger was thin, with that skinny, lean look of a young man who hadn't reached his full growth. Heyes forced a warm smile across his face.

"Welcome! We don't get many visitors here," greeted the silver tongued charmer. "What brings you to Thunder Ridge?"

The youth took his time to peel off his worn riding gloves. Heyes continued his assessment of the new arrival: threadbare clothes, a determined look on his face. For a moment, Heyes was almost reminded of Kid at seventeen, but then a big toothy grin spread across the younger man's face. The Danny Bilson lookalike smiled.

"I'm looking for a fella named Jones."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	2. Something To Say?

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Chapter 2: Something To Say?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Arthur had a red balloon. He blew it up when he was supposed to be singing, and then he popped it!" Five year old Jennifer babbled on about the abrupt ending to chorus practice. "And Miss Hendricks jumped, and knocked the podium over, and… and…"

"Cousin Clem said Arthur's gonna get it when Josh'a hears," interrupted Hannah.

Kid smiled at his daughters. Leaving aside the crankshaft and cylinders sprawled across his worktable, the forty-five year old reached one big hand out and tucked a stray blonde curl behind Hannah's ear.

"Your little sister wasn't finished speaking," reminded Kid in a gentle voice.

Little Hannah flushed red in embarrassment. The six year old shot her younger sibling an apologetic look.

"Sorry Jen," mumbled Hannah.

"You didn't tell the part about Miss Hendricks flower vase breaking," grumbled the younger girl. "Or her yellin' at everybody!"

"The teacher raised her voice?"

"Papa, it was more like she squawked when the water splashed all over her dress," explained ten year old Eliza. "I don't think Arthur, Clem and Josh'a will be coming to supper tonight."

Kid quirked up one eyebrow, but before he could ask where Arthur had gotten a balloon from, the door to his work shop opened again. Arthur stumbled inside, followed by a very pale faced Clem. Kid stood up, instantly alert.

"What's wrong Clem?"

"What?" Clem's lips curled up in a semblance of a smile. A worried glance over her shoulder as she pulled the door shut behind her told Kid more. "Nothing's wrong. Joshua will be along in a few minutes. He just wanted us to wait here before we all go up to supper. Together. In a few minutes."

Blue eyes narrowed. Kid recognized a con when he heard it. A few steps brought the long legged man close to the petite woman. Arthur slipped loose from his mother's grasp and moved to join the girls examining the drafting papers beside the disassembled engine on Kid's worktable.

"Clem?"

"Joshua just went to say hello to someone over at the livery," answered Clem.

Kid glanced out the window. Uriah was leading a strange horse into the barn. Heyes strode towards the livery blocking Kid's view of a tall man with sandy hair. Who was it? An old friend? A lawman? Or bounty hunter perhaps? After all this time, in the seeming safety of Thunder Ridge, were they found out at last?

"Who?" Kid's low voice sounded calm.

"He didn't say. I don't think he knows for sure," admitted Clem.

Kid nodded in understanding. Time changed some folks, laugh lines or wrinkles, gray hair or no hair, or like Kyle with his glasses. While Kid didn't think he and Heyes had changed all that much over the years, Heyes argued that they wouldn't match their old wanted posters.

"Eliza, take your sisters on home and tell your mother there may be one extra for supper," called Kid in a casual tone. In a lower voice to Clem, he added, "You and Arthur should go as well."

"Arthur, go with your cousins now," ordered Clem.

The back door opened and closed. Kid and Clem both watched as the children chased each other up the slope to the sprawling Jones family home. When the children disappeared inside, Kid reached for his gun belt on the shelf beside the front door. The fast draw buckled the shining Colt on and leaned over to tie the leather thongs around his thigh.

"Joshua asked me to keep you inside too." Clem's shaky voice whispered.

"Now Clem, you know I can't do that," chided Kid. He straightened up and reached for his brown hat. He flashed a warm smile at the petite brunette. "Don't worry, I've got his back."

"And who's got your back?" demanded Clem. Without the children around, Clem used her husband's real name. "Heyes is unarmed!"

"Clem, you should go home too," urged Kid with a soft smile. "Mattie's got her hands full with Carolyn and Charlotte, I doubt she's even started cooking."

"Is supper all you can think about?"

Kid stepped past her into the dusty street outside. Clem's frantic whisper followed him.

"Don't either one of you dare get shot!"

Kid's easy, rolling gait took him closer to the livery stable. Heyes' back was to him and Kid still couldn't see the man facing his partner.

"I think you're outta luck," the sound of Heyes' baritone carried in the empty street.

"The bank lady in Porterville said Jones lived in Thunder Ridge," objected the new arrival. "I've been searching from town to town, all the way from Texas just to meet this fella."

Kid recognized the distinctive tones of the man facing his cousin, the voice that narrated his bad dreams. It couldn't be!

"Caroline Porter? She's a little forgetful these days, gets things mixed up a lot," Heyes shook his head. A slender hand gestured towards the little graveyard. "There was a Jones fella living in Thunder Ridge when I first came here, but he died about twelve or thirteen years ago."

"Huh?"

"You might as well get back on your horse and ride right on outta here," urged Heyes.

"I ain't goin' nowhere just yet," insisted the drifter.

"Hey!" called Kid.

Heyes spun around, his pale face shot a glare at Kid. The unspoken, _"What are you doing here? I've got everything under control!"_ caused Kid to shake his head. The tall figure standing behind Heyes stepped to one side. Kid recognized the long, lanky form. This man was younger than Danny, but otherwise a virtual copy of the man they had met in Stockton so long ago. The man that robbed them and Seth, abandoning them all to a slow death.

"Are you calling me?" demanded the stranger.

"He's my partner, he's looking for me," countered Heyes. "Just give me a minute to see what he wants."

Heyes stalked quickly towards Kid, keeping between his partner and the young man. The partners met toe to toe in the middle of the street. Kid peered over Heyes' shoulder, watching the stranger.

"You better hope Caroline Porter doesn't hear what you just said about her," warned Kid with a smile. Then his eyes narrowed looking at the Danny lookalike. "Who is he?"

"Kid, I don't know yet, just let me talk to him," whispered Heyes in a low hiss. The slim man reached up and placed one hand against Kid's chest. "Go back..."

The swift blond was around Heyes before his sentence was finished. His partner followed Kid back towards the livery, but stopped when Kid moved to the side of the barn. The careful shootist placed himself where any stray bullets the young man might fire would embed themselves in the stable wall behind him. Widening his stance, Kid lowered his hands to rest against his gun belt. The stranger might not have recognized the significance of Kid's movements, but Heyes surely did. Kid couldn't have said it any louder, he expected a shootout.

"What brings you to these parts?" called Kid.

"Do you fellas always get into everybody's business?"

Kid narrowed his eyes at the mocking tone.

"I'm thinkin' it might be my business," challenged Kid. "Especially if you're looking for my uncle Clarence Jones."

The sandy haired youth snapped his riding gloves against his thigh before tucking them under the edge of his gun belt.

"Never heard of Clarence Jones," sneered the youth. "I'm lookin' for a fella called Thaddeus Jones."

"Well you found me."

The youth's blue eyes blinked in surprise. The insolent teen swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"Who are you?" demanded Kid.

"I'm called William Danielson Junior," gulped the stripling. "And…"

Danielson's knowing air deserted him. Instead of a brash, cocksure imitation of Danny, he appeared for a moment to be a hesitant and unsure teenager.

"Well? What do you want?"

"Are you the same Thaddeus Jones that killed Danny Bilson in Matherville back in 1881?" blurted out the lad.

Kid kept his face expressionless.

"I am."

The quiet words hung in the air between the men. The lanky young man pushed back the length of his coat on both sides to reveal the pistol strapped to his leg. The threat appeared obvious.

"Mr. Jones, the name Danny Bilson was an alias," informed Danielson. His square chin trembled for a second. "The man you killed was my father. I'm here to settle things."

"Settle things?" objected Heyes. The loquacious man rattled on. "Danny's dead! You can't bring him back! The sheriff said it was self-defense! There were no charges against Thaddeus. There's nothing to settle!"

Kid gave a long slow sigh. Danielson spread his arms out, his hands quivering by his hips.

"Boy, be careful what you're doing," warned Kid. "I don't want to have to shoot you."

The youth blanched at Kid's words, but then Danielson's jaw jutted out. The young man squared his shoulders.

"You won't get a chance old man!" huffed Danielson with a show of false bravado. "I'm a fast draw, even faster than my father!"

Kid's eyebrows went up at the insolent words.

"How old are you boy?"

"Old enough to get revenge on the man who killed my father!

"How… old?" Kid grated out each word.

"Nineteen!"

"Really?" disbelief was evident in Kid's tone.

"Nineteen… next month!" Danielson's blue eyes glittered, his nervous hands jittered at his side. "Thaddeus Jones, I'm calling you out!"

For a moment, it seemed as if nobody breathed. A metallic click echoed across the stable yard. The liveryman stood at the barn door, an aging Sharps buffalo rifle in his hands, the hammer pulled back. Uriah's lips curled up in annoyance. He spat a stream of tobacco juice before speaking.

"Ain't nobody calling anybody out in my livery!" drawled Uriah. "This ain't the O.K. Corral."

The barrel of the Sharps pointing at the youth bobbed up and down.

"Boy, you take one hand… very slowly now… and unbuckle that gun belt of yours and toss it over to Thaddeus," ordered Uriah.

"But…" Danielson objected.

"Now!" growled Uriah. "Jones was a deputy once. He's the nearest thing we got to a lawman in Thunder Ridge!"

Danielson glared but began to unbuckle his gun belt. A moment later, the gun thudded in the dust in front of Kid's brown boots. The tall blond knelt down. One finger reached out to prod the pistol from its holster. Kid regarded the weapon with a frown upon his face before sliding it back into its sheath. He wrapped the belt around the gun, picked it up and rose to stand.

"Thaddeus he's your responsibility now." Uriah frowned for emphasis. "I'm goin' home to supper."

The liveryman slammed the barn door shut. Kid didn't object to Uriah's conclusion. Watchful blue eyes gazed at Danielson. The youth's shoulders slumped, all the fight appeared to have gone out of him. The fast draw rubbed his jawline. What was he going to do with this boy?

"Supper?" echoed Danielson. Blue eyes darted from Kid, to Heyes, and back to Kid. "Do they feed you supper in jail?"

"Usually," Kid nodded. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm always hungry," admitted the teen.

"We don't have a jail in Thunder Ridge," added Kid. "And right now I'm trying to figure out what to do with you."

"What to do with him? He wanted to shoot you!" spluttered Heyes. The wiry man stepped closer to Kid. Heyes hissed, "Take him back to Lom and turn him in! They can keep him in the Porterville jail."

"We won't get to Porterville before dark," reminded Kid. His voice lowered, "And the boy ain't likely to shoot anyone with this."

Kid thrust Danielson's gun belt towards his partner. Heyes' nimble fingers took the weaponry. Brown eyes opened wide when Heyes saw the state of the dusty old relic. Kid stared down his would be assassin. The muscular man stepped closer.

"I need to check you for other weapons," informed Kid as he reached to pat down the near double of Danny.

"I ain't got nothin' else," objected Danielson.

Kid held up the pocket knife he'd retrieved from an inside pocket. The young man flushed.

"Nothin' but that knife," corrected Danielson. "And it's not good for much besides breaking up hard tack."

Kid opened the small folding knife. The blade was dull, didn't look like it would slice butter. For a man intent on a showdown, Danielson seemed a mite unprepared.

"Whatcha gonna do with me?"

"I reckon I could lock you up in the shed and take you to Porterville in the morning," mused Kid. "But then there's the issue of supper."

Kid paused, assessing the dust covered young man. William Danielson Junior, whomever he might be, wasn't Danny Bilson. Kid remembered a noisy saloon in San Antonio. Twenty eight years ago, he'd been the boy bound of vengeance, not caring if he lived or died. Only the arrival of his cousin stopped Kid from calling out a man he recognized from the devastation in Kansas. Instead, Kid spent the evening showing Heyes his fast draw.

"If you promise not to cause any trouble, especially not frighten my children by tellin' them you've come here to kill me, you could to come to supper with us."

It was hard for Kid to tell who looked more shocked by Kid's invitation, Danielson or Heyes.

"Thaddeus! What do you think you're doing?" demanded Heyes.

"A man's gotta eat Joshua," reminded Kid. His blue eyes regarded Danielson. "Maybe after supper you can explain to me why you think we need to settle things with a shootout."

The youth flushed. Danielson huffed and looked flustered.

"There's a lot to live up to when you're the son of Kid Curry."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A/N2: Per balloon hq dot com, FAQ/history: As early as 1889, balloons could be bought by people in the United States. Montgomery Ward had them in their catalog that year. The catalog listed them as "…red rubber balloons with trumpet ends." The price was four cents each or forty cents a dozen. The balloons were not made in the United States, but were probably imported from Belgium.


	3. Showdown

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Chapter 3: Showdown

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"What?"

Heyes turned to meet Kid's blue eyes. The confusion Heyes felt was reflected in his partner's face. Kid shrugged and turned back to face the young would be vigilante.

"Kid Curry? I don't think you've got your facts straight," responded Kid. "That young fella runnin' with the Wild Bunch over in Johnson County isn't old enough to be your Pa."

"Not him!" Danielson flushed again. "The real one, Jedidiah "Kid" Curry! The fastest gun in the west!"

Kid rocked back on his heels and sucked in a deep breath before speaking.

"Who told you Danny Bilson was Kid Curry?" Kid's quiet voice asked. "That fast draw ain't been heard from in nearly twenty years."

"Everybody in Matherville said Danny Bilson was Kid Curry!"

"Everybody in Matherville was wrong."

Two stubborn men glared at each other. Behind Heyes, a door slammed. The strategist glanced over his shoulder at the sound. Clem stood outside of Jones' Mechanical Repair, glimpses of white petticoats flashed as she hurried towards them. Heyes turned back to Kid and Danielson.

"And where did you get the idea that Danny Bilson was your father?" Heyes' smooth voice broke up the staring impasse.

"After Ma's funeral, Otis helped me pack up," Danielson's face scrunched up. "I found the pistol wrapped up in an old wanted poster in the barn. Otis told me my Pa was an outlaw and got himself killed in Matherville."

"And you believed that?"

"Otis's story seemed to make sense," sighed the youth. "Leastways more sense than what Ma told me about Pa disappearing in the desert right before I was born and no one knows what happened to him."

Heyes met Kid's gaze. They both knew it was easy to lose someone in the desert. Years ago, they had tried to take the sheriff back to Seth's body when they stumbled back into Stockton, dehydrated and malnourished. They managed to locate Seth's claim again, but had not been able to retrace their meandering trail and find the small cairn they'd built for their friend's remains.

"Danny Bilson was a good shot, a good poker player, and knew how to work a mine claim," stated Heyes. "The only other thing we know about him is that he took off with twenty thousand dollars in gold, all the food, water and horses, leaving a nice old man named Seth, Thaddeus, and myself stranded in the desert to die."

Danielson's eyes grew larger as he listened to Heyes' story.

"We made it, Seth didn't," added Kid. "And that's why we tracked Danny to Matherville. We couldn't prove anything to the law, so we made ready to leave and that's when Danny called me out."

"Personally, I think I'd stick with the name William Danielson Junior," advised Heyes.

As Clem neared Heyes he ran a hand through his dark hair, strands of gray showed above his temples. He flashed a dimpled smile at his wife. Clem's worried eyes darted between the youth and the weapon now tucked under Heyes's arm.

"What was Uriah doing waving around that huge rifle?"

"Clem, you know Uriah likes to show off his buffalo rifle," soothed Kid.

"It looked like this boy was gonna draw on you!" Clem's sharp tone indicated her worry. Her hazel eyes drilled into the teen. "Were you?"

The teen gulped and looked from Heyes to Kid.

"You might want to introduce yourself to Mrs. Smith," suggested Kid.

"William Danielson Junior, Ma'am, at your service," Danielson replied with a polite nod.

"Do you always greet people by trying to draw on them?" demanded Clem. Without giving the boy a chance to answer, she asked, "Do we need to lock you up?"

"Clem we don't have a jail here," reminded Kid.

"I've got an old pair of handcuffs at home!" retorted Clem.

Kid's eyebrows went up. Heyes fixed his smile firmly on his face and tried not to look disconcerted by the puzzled look his cousin shot at him.

"I've invited young Danielson to supper, provided he remembers his manners," continued Kid. Sharp blue eyes narrowed at the teen. "Are you gonna behave?"

"My Ma taught me manners," retorted the youth.

"Good, I'll be watching you," warned Kid. "Let's go, I'm hungry."

The boy moved to walk alongside Kid. Clem set her jaw in a tight little frown, but didn't object. At the edge of the trail, Kid looked back over his shoulder. Sunlight slowly setting over the western ridge caressed him and made his hair glow dark gold.

"Are you two coming?" called Kid.

"Go on ahead Thaddeus," waved Heyes. "Clem and I will be up in a minute."

"Hmmph!" Beside him, Clem crossed her arms over her chest. "It looked like that boy was going to draw on Thaddeus!"

"He was," agreed Heyes.

Clem's hazel eyes widened as she turned to face him.

"And we're just gonna let him go up to have supper like he's part of the family?" protested Clem.

"Yep," nodded Heyes.

Heyes didn't exactly know what Kid had planned yet, but keeping one gangly teenager under control had to be easier than keeping order of an unruly gang of outlaws.

"Who is he?" demanded Clem. "And don't just say William Danielson Junior."

"He thinks he's the son of Kid Curry," smiled Heyes. "The real one, not that fella runnin' with the Wild Bunch."

"He doesn't look a thing like Kid."

"I know," agreed Heyes. "He looks just like Danny Bilson."

The tiny brunette inhaled sharply. Although the young children didn't know about Kid and Heyes' past yet, both Kid's wife and Clem knew the story of Seth, Bilson and Matherville.

"What are we gonna do with him?" worried Clem.

"If he tries anything again, I'll flatten him and you can get the handcuffs."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Were we ever that hard headed?" Kid demanded in exasperation.

"Yeah," smirked Heyes. "Probably worse."

Danielson had managed to get through supper without saying or doing anything to make Kid regret bringing the boy home. Now the boy was washing dishes, all of them. Clem was reading a story to the children surrounding her, while Kid's wife Mattie supervised putting the dishes away. The partners stood outside on the front porch, the moon and glowing embers of a cigar their only light.

"Nah, couldn't be," objected Kid. "He didn't believe me when I told him his gun needed cleaning!"

"What are you gonna do with him?"

"Watch over him," shrugged Kid. "I'll take him down to the shop tomorrow and show him proper maintenance of a Colt. Then maybe I'll show him what a fast draw looks like, he's gotta learn there will always be someone faster."

"That's it? Just watch him? He wanted to kill you," reminded Heyes.

"You can see it in his eyes, William ain't a murderer," Kid shook his head. "I can't see putting him in jail or a boy's home. That wouldn't do him any good."

"Might not do him any good, but I'd sleep better," retorted Heyes.

"His Ma just died and he never knew his Pa," reminded Kid. "He was lashing out at the world and Thaddeus Jones happened to be a convenient person to blame."

Heyes regarded his quiet cousin. The solid, comforting presence of the man at his side always seemed ready to take on anything. If Kid determined he needed to rehabilitate a wanna be fast draw, Heyes wouldn't bet against him.

"There's something else though," prodded Heyes. "What's worrying you?"

"Heyes, don't you think it's worrisome that I'm the nearest thing we got to a lawman in Thunder Ridge?

"No Kid," grinned Heyes. "That actually makes me feel really safe."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 _1903 Milwaukee Mile_

 _The tall sandy haired man nodded affably to the reporter. A blue ribbon attached to the front window of the sleek white roadster he leaned against declared the car from Wyoming to be the winner of this heat. Elegant green script painted along the side identified the race car's name "Lucky Draw."_

" _Sure, I'll answer questions," answered Danielson. "This fine automobile is owned and designed by Mr. Thaddeus Jones of Thunder Ridge Wyoming. He taught me everything I know about proper maintenance of fine machinery…"_

 _The reporter interrupted with a different question._

" _Me? Oh I go by William Jones, from Chicago now…"_

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A/N2 As per Wikipedia, Milwaukee Mile: The first motorsports event was held on September 11, 1903. William Jones of Chicago won a five lap speed contest, and set the first track record with a 72-second, 50 mph (80 km/h) lap.


End file.
